Poets on Poets Bloghttp://www.rc.umd.edu/pop-blog
enKevin McFadden reads "To a Mouse" by Robert Burnshttp://www.rc.umd.edu/pop-blog/kevin-mcfadden-reads-mouse-robert-burns
<div class="field field-name-field-embed-code field-type-text-long field-label-hidden view-mode-fulltext"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><iframe src="https://archive.org/embed/McfaddenMouse01&playlist=1" width="400" height="70" frameborder="0" webkitallowfullscreen="true" mozallowfullscreen="true" allowfullscreen></iframe></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden view-mode-fulltext"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="content:encoded"><p>In this installment Kevin McFadden reads "To a Mouse" by Robert Burns. McFadden's first volume of poems, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/082033118X?ie=UTF8&amp;tag=fromthefish-20&amp;creativeASIN=082033118X"><em>Hardscrabble</em></a> (University of Georgia Press, 2008), won the George Garrett Award for poetry from the Fellowship of Southern Writers and the Great Lakes Colleges Association New Poetry Award. His poems have appeared in <em>The Seattle Review</em>, <em>Ploughshares</em>, <em>Poetry</em>, and <em>The Kenyon Review</em>. He works for the Virginia Foundation for the Humanities and lives in Charlottesville.</p>
<p>Robert Burns, "To a Mouse"</p>
<p>Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie,<br />
O, what a panic's in thy breastie!<br />
Thou need na start awa sae hasty<br />
Wi bickering brattle!<br />
I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee,<br />
Wi' murdering pattle.</p>
<p>I'm truly sorry man's dominion<br />
Has broken Nature's social union,<br />
An' justifies that ill opinion<br />
Which makes thee startle<br />
At me, thy poor, earth born companion<br />
An' fellow mortal!</p>
<p>I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve;<br />
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!<br />
A daimen icker in a thrave<br />
'S a sma' request;<br />
I'll get a blessin wi' the lave,<br />
An' never miss't.</p>
<p>Thy wee-bit housie, too, in ruin!<br />
It's silly wa's the win's are strewin!<br />
An' naething, now, to big a new ane,<br />
O' foggage green!<br />
An' bleak December's win's ensuin,<br />
Baith snell an' keen!</p>
<p>Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste,<br />
An' weary winter comin fast,<br />
An' cozie here, beneath the blast,<br />
Thou thought to dwell,<br />
Till crash! the cruel coulter past<br />
Out thro' thy cell.</p>
<p>That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble,<br />
Has cost thee monie a weary nibble!<br />
Now thou's turned out, for a' thy trouble,<br />
But house or hald,<br />
To thole the winter's sleety dribble,<br />
An' cranreuch cauld.</p>
<p>But Mousie, thou art no thy lane,<br />
In proving foresight may be vain:<br />
The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men<br />
Gang aft agley,<br />
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,<br />
For promis'd joy!</p>
<p>Still thou are blest, compared wi' me!<br />
The present only toucheth thee:<br />
But och! I backward cast my e'e,<br />
On prospects drear!<br />
An' forward, tho' I canna see,<br />
I guess an' fear!</p>
</div></div></div><section class="field field-name-field-authored-by-primary- field-type-entityreference field-label-above view-mode-fulltext"><h2 class="field-label">Authored by (Primary):&nbsp;</h2><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><a href="/person/burns-robert">Burns, Robert</a></div></div></section><section class="field field-name-field-audio-author field-type-entityreference field-label-above view-mode-fulltext"><h2 class="field-label">Audio Author:&nbsp;</h2><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><a href="/person/mcfadden-kevin">McFadden, Kevin</a></div></div></section><section class="field field-name-field-audio-categories field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-above view-mode-fulltext"><h2 class="field-label">Audio Categories:&nbsp;</h2><ul class="field-items"><li class="field-item even"><a href="/category/audio-categories/poets-on-poets-reading" typeof="skos:Concept" property="rdfs:label skos:prefLabel" datatype="">Poets on Poets Reading</a></li></ul></section><section class="field field-name-field-resource-index field-type-entityreference field-label-above view-mode-fulltext"><h2 class="field-label">Parent Resource:&nbsp;</h2><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even">Poets on Poets</div></div></section>Fri, 15 Oct 2010 12:34:14 +0000DougGuerra23964 at http://www.rc.umd.eduLeevi Lehto reads “Bright star!” by John Keatshttp://www.rc.umd.edu/pop-blog/leevi-lehto-reads-%E2%80%9Cbright-star%E2%80%9D-john-keats
<div class="field field-name-field-embed-code field-type-text-long field-label-hidden view-mode-fulltext"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><iframe src="https://archive.org/embed/LehtoBrightstar&playlist=1" width="400" height="120" frameborder="0" webkitallowfullscreen="true" mozallowfullscreen="true" allowfullscreen></iframe></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden view-mode-fulltext"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="content:encoded"><p>In this installment Leevi Lehto reads "Bright star!" by John Keats. Lehto (born in 1951 and living in Helsinki), is a Finnish poet, translator, and programmer. Since he made his poetic debut in 1967, he has published six volumes of poetry, a novel, <em>Janajevin unet</em> (Yanayev's Dreams, 1991), and an experimental prose work, <em>P„iv„</em> (Day, 2004). He has been active in leftist politics (during the 70s) and worked as a corporate executive in the communications industry (during the 90s). He is also known for his experiments in digital writing, such as the Google Poem Generator. His translations, some forty books in all, range from mystery writing to philosophy, sociology, and poety. He is currently working on a new Finnish translation of <em>Ulysses</em> by James Joyce and his collection, <em>Lake Oneja</em>, is available online at <a href="http://www.leevilehto.net" target="_blank">www.leevilehto.net</a>. You can listen to the other two poems in Lehto's "half homophonic" suite (in English and Finnish) by following the supplemental readings links below.</p>
<p>John Keats, "Bright star"</p>
<p>Bright star! would I be steadfast as thou art—<br />
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night,<br />
And watching, with eternal lids apart,<br />
Like Nature’s patient sleepless Eremite,<br />
The moving waters at their priestlike task<br />
Of pure ablution round earth’s human shores,<br />
Or gazing on the new soft fallen mask<br />
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors—<br />
Yet—No—yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,<br />
Pillow’d upon my fair love’s ripening breast,<br />
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,<br />
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,<br />
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,<br />
And so live ever—or else swoon to death.</p>
</div></div></div><section class="field field-name-field-authored-by-primary- field-type-entityreference field-label-above view-mode-fulltext"><h2 class="field-label">Authored by (Primary):&nbsp;</h2><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><a href="/person/keats-john">Keats, John</a></div></div></section><section class="field field-name-field-audio-author field-type-entityreference field-label-above view-mode-fulltext"><h2 class="field-label">Audio Author:&nbsp;</h2><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><a href="/person/lehto-leevi">Lehto, Leevi</a></div></div></section><section class="field field-name-field-audio-categories field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-above view-mode-fulltext"><h2 class="field-label">Audio Categories:&nbsp;</h2><ul class="field-items"><li class="field-item even"><a href="/category/audio-categories/poets-on-poets-reading" typeof="skos:Concept" property="rdfs:label skos:prefLabel" datatype="">Poets on Poets Reading</a></li></ul></section><section class="field field-name-field-resource-index field-type-entityreference field-label-above view-mode-fulltext"><h2 class="field-label">Parent Resource:&nbsp;</h2><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even">Poets on Poets</div></div></section>Fri, 15 Oct 2010 12:31:08 +0000DougGuerra23963 at http://www.rc.umd.eduAngie Hogan reads “Lines Written in Early Spring” by William Wordsworthhttp://www.rc.umd.edu/pop-blog/angie-hogan-reads-%E2%80%9Clines-written-early-spring%E2%80%9D-william-wordsworth
<div class="field field-name-field-embed-code field-type-text-long field-label-hidden view-mode-fulltext"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><iframe src="https://archive.org/embed/HoganSpring" width="400" height="30" frameborder="0" webkitallowfullscreen="true" mozallowfullscreen="true" allowfullscreen></iframe></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden view-mode-fulltext"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="content:encoded"><p>In this installment Angie Hogan reads "Lines Written in Early Spring" by William Wordsworth. Hogan's poems have appeared in <em>The Antioch Review</em>, <em>Bellingham Review</em>, <em>Ploughshares</em>, <em>Third Coast</em>, <em>The Virginia Quarterly Review</em>,<em> Willow Springs</em>, and elsewhere. Originally from a small town in East Tennessee, she currently lives near Charlottesville and works at the University of Virginia Press.</p>
<p>William Wordsworth, "Lines Written in Early Spring"</p>
<p>I heard a thousand blended notes,<br />
While in a grove I sate reclined,<br />
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts<br />
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.</p>
<p>To her fair works did Nature link<br />
The human soul that through me ran;<br />
And much it grieved my heart to think<br />
What man has made of man.</p>
<p>Through primrose tufts, in that sweet bower,<br />
The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;<br />
And ’tis my faith that every flower<br />
Enjoys the air it breathes.</p>
<p>The birds around me hopped and played,<br />
Their thoughts I cannot measure:–<br />
But the least motion which they made<br />
It seemed a thrill of pleasure.</p>
<p>The budding twigs spread out their fan,<br />
To catch the breezy air;<br />
And I must think, do all I can,<br />
That there was pleasure there.</p>
<p>From heaven if this belief be sent,<br />
If such be Nature’s holy plan,<br />
Have I not reason to lament<br />
What man has made of man?</p>
</div></div></div><section class="field field-name-field-authored-by-primary- field-type-entityreference field-label-above view-mode-fulltext"><h2 class="field-label">Authored by (Primary):&nbsp;</h2><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><a href="/person/wordsworth-william">Wordsworth, William</a></div></div></section><section class="field field-name-field-audio-author field-type-entityreference field-label-above view-mode-fulltext"><h2 class="field-label">Audio Author:&nbsp;</h2><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><a href="/person/hogan-angie">Hogan, Angie</a></div></div></section><section class="field field-name-field-audio-categories field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-above view-mode-fulltext"><h2 class="field-label">Audio Categories:&nbsp;</h2><ul class="field-items"><li class="field-item even"><a href="/category/audio-categories/poets-on-poets-reading" typeof="skos:Concept" property="rdfs:label skos:prefLabel" datatype="">Poets on Poets Reading</a></li></ul></section><section class="field field-name-field-resource-index field-type-entityreference field-label-above view-mode-fulltext"><h2 class="field-label">Parent Resource:&nbsp;</h2><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even">Poets on Poets</div></div></section>Fri, 15 Oct 2010 12:21:22 +0000DougGuerra23962 at http://www.rc.umd.eduJohn Casteen reads “Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey” by William Wordsworthhttp://www.rc.umd.edu/pop-blog/john-casteen-reads-%E2%80%9Clines-composed-few-miles-above-tintern-abbey%E2%80%9D-william-wordsworth
<div class="field field-name-field-embed-code field-type-text-long field-label-hidden view-mode-fulltext"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><iframe src="https://archive.org/embed/CasteenTintern" width="400" height="30" frameborder="0" webkitallowfullscreen="true" mozallowfullscreen="true" allowfullscreen></iframe></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden view-mode-fulltext"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="content:encoded"><p>In this installment John Casteen reads "Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey" by William Wordsworth. Casteen's poems have appeared in <em>Ploughshares</em>, <em>The Paris Review</em>, <em>Lo-Ball</em>, and other magazines; his first book, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/082033328X?ie=UTF8&amp;tag=fromthefish-20&amp;creativeASIN=082033328X"><em>Free Union</em></a>, appeared from the University of Georgia Press in 2009. He teaches at Sweet Briar College, and serves on the editorial staff of <em>The Virginia Quarterly Review</em>. The poems here are from his forthcoming collection, <em>For the Mountain Laurel</em>.</p>
<p>William Wordsworth, "Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey"</p>
<p>FIVE years have past; five summers, with the length<br />
Of five long winters! and again I hear<br />
These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs<br />
With a soft inland murmur.--Once again<br />
Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs,<br />
That on a wild secluded scene impress<br />
Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect<br />
The landscape with the quiet of the sky.<br />
The day is come when I again repose<br />
Here, under this dark sycamore, and view</p>
<p>These plots of cottage-ground, these orchard-tufts,<br />
Which at this season, with their unripe fruits,<br />
Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves<br />
'Mid groves and copses. Once again I see<br />
These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines<br />
Of sportive wood run wild: these pastoral farms,<br />
Green to the very door; and wreaths of smoke<br />
Sent up, in silence, from among the trees!<br />
With some uncertain notice, as might seem<br />
Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods,</p>
<p>Or of some Hermit's cave, where by his fire<br />
The Hermit sits alone.<br />
These beauteous forms,<br />
Through a long absence, have not been to me<br />
As is a landscape to a blind man's eye:<br />
But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din<br />
Of towns and cities, I have owed to them<br />
In hours of weariness, sensations sweet,<br />
Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart;<br />
And passing even into my purer mind,<br />
With tranquil restoration:--feelings too</p>
<p>Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps,<br />
As have no slight or trivial influence<br />
On that best portion of a good man's life,<br />
His little, nameless, unremembered, acts<br />
Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust,<br />
To them I may have owed another gift,<br />
Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood,<br />
In which the burthen of the mystery,<br />
In which the heavy and the weary weight<br />
Of all this unintelligible world,</p>
<p>Is lightened:--that serene and blessed mood,<br />
In which the affections gently lead us on,--<br />
Until, the breath of this corporeal frame<br />
And even the motion of our human blood<br />
Almost suspended, we are laid asleep<br />
In body, and become a living soul:<br />
While with an eye made quiet by the power<br />
Of harmony, and the deep power of joy,<br />
We see into the life of things.<br />
If this<br />
Be but a vain belief, yet, oh! how oft--</p>
<p>In darkness and amid the many shapes<br />
Of joyless daylight; when the fretful stir<br />
Unprofitable, and the fever of the world,<br />
Have hung upon the beatings of my heart--<br />
How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee,<br />
O sylvan Wye! thou wanderer thro' the woods,<br />
How often has my spirit turned to thee!<br />
And now, with gleams of half-extinguished thought,<br />
With many recognitions dim and faint,<br />
And somewhat of a sad perplexity,</p>
<p>The picture of the mind revives again:<br />
While here I stand, not only with the sense<br />
Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts<br />
That in this moment there is life and food<br />
For future years. And so I dare to hope,<br />
Though changed, no doubt, from what I was when first<br />
I came among these hills; when like a roe<br />
I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides<br />
Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams,<br />
Wherever nature led: more like a man</p>
<p>Flying from something that he dreads, than one<br />
Who sought the thing he loved. For nature then<br />
(The coarser pleasures of my boyish days,<br />
And their glad animal movements all gone by)<br />
To me was all in all.--I cannot paint<br />
What then I was. The sounding cataract<br />
Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock,<br />
The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,<br />
Their colours and their forms, were then to me<br />
An appetite; a feeling and a love,</p>
<p>That had no need of a remoter charm,<br />
By thought supplied, nor any interest<br />
Unborrowed from the eye.--That time is past,<br />
And all its aching joys are now no more,<br />
And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this<br />
Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur, other gifts<br />
Have followed; for such loss, I would believe,<br />
Abundant recompence. For I have learned<br />
To look on nature, not as in the hour<br />
Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes</p>
<p>The still, sad music of humanity,<br />
Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power<br />
To chasten and subdue. And I have felt<br />
A presence that disturbs me with the joy<br />
Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime<br />
Of something far more deeply interfused,<br />
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,<br />
And the round ocean and the living air,<br />
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man;<br />
A motion and a spirit, that impels</p>
<p>All thinking things, all objects of all thought,<br />
And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still<br />
A lover of the meadows and the woods,<br />
And mountains; and of all that we behold<br />
From this green earth; of all the mighty world<br />
Of eye, and ear,--both what they half create,<br />
And what perceive; well pleased to recognise<br />
In nature and the language of the sense,<br />
The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse,<br />
The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul</p>
<p>Of all my moral being.<br />
Nor perchance,<br />
If I were not thus thought, should I the more<br />
Suffer my genial spirits to decay:<br />
For thou art with me here upon the banks<br />
Of this fair river; thou my dearest Friend,<br />
My dear, dear Friend; and in thy voice I catch<br />
The language of my former heart, and read<br />
My former pleasures in the shooting lights<br />
Of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while<br />
May I behold in thee what I was once,</p>
<p>My dear, dear Sister! and this prayer I make,<br />
Knowing that Nature never did betray<br />
The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege,<br />
Through all the years of this our life, to lead<br />
From joy to joy: for she can so inform<br />
The mind that is within us, so impress<br />
With quietness and beauty, and so feed<br />
With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues,<br />
Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men,<br />
Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all</p>
<p>The dreary intercourse of daily life,<br />
Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb<br />
Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold<br />
Is full of blessings. Therefore let the moon<br />
Shine on thee in thy solitary walk;<br />
And let the misty mountain-winds be free<br />
To blow against thee: and, in after years,<br />
When these wild ecstasies shall be matured<br />
Into a sober pleasure; when thy mind<br />
Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms,</p>
<p>Thy memory be as a dwelling-place<br />
For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh! then,<br />
If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief,<br />
Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts<br />
Of tender joy wilt thou remember me,<br />
And these my exhortations! Nor, perchance--<br />
If I should be where I no more can hear<br />
Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these gleams<br />
Of past existence--wilt thou then forget<br />
That on the banks of this delightful stream</p>
<p>We stood together; and that I, so long<br />
A worshipper of Nature, hither came<br />
Unwearied in that service: rather say<br />
With warmer love--oh! with far deeper zeal<br />
Of holier love. Nor wilt thou then forget,<br />
That after many wanderings, many years<br />
Of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs,<br />
And this green pastoral landscape, were to me<br />
More dear, both for themselves and for thy sake!</p>
</div></div></div><section class="field field-name-field-authored-by-primary- field-type-entityreference field-label-above view-mode-fulltext"><h2 class="field-label">Authored by (Primary):&nbsp;</h2><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><a href="/person/wordsworth-william">Wordsworth, William</a></div></div></section><section class="field field-name-field-audio-author field-type-entityreference field-label-above view-mode-fulltext"><h2 class="field-label">Audio Author:&nbsp;</h2><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><a href="/person/casteen-john">Casteen, John</a></div></div></section><section class="field field-name-taxonomy-vocabulary-3 field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-above view-mode-fulltext"><h2 class="field-label">Tags:&nbsp;</h2><ul class="field-items"><li class="field-item even"><a href="/taxonomy/term/1631" typeof="skos:Concept" property="rdfs:label skos:prefLabel" datatype="">&#039;Tintern Abbey&#039;</a></li><li class="field-item odd"><a href="/category/tags/william-wordsworth" typeof="skos:Concept" property="rdfs:label skos:prefLabel" datatype="">William Wordsworth</a></li></ul></section><section class="field field-name-field-audio-categories field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-above view-mode-fulltext"><h2 class="field-label">Audio Categories:&nbsp;</h2><ul class="field-items"><li class="field-item even"><a href="/category/audio-categories/poets-on-poets-reading" typeof="skos:Concept" property="rdfs:label skos:prefLabel" datatype="">Poets on Poets Reading</a></li></ul></section><section class="field field-name-field-resource-index field-type-entityreference field-label-above view-mode-fulltext"><h2 class="field-label">Parent Resource:&nbsp;</h2><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even">Poets on Poets</div></div></section>Fri, 15 Oct 2010 12:17:53 +0000DougGuerra23961 at http://www.rc.umd.eduLisa Steinman reads “To Wordsworth” by Percy Bysshe Shelleyhttp://www.rc.umd.edu/pop-blog/lisa-steinman-reads-%E2%80%9C-wordsworth%E2%80%9D-percy-bysshe-shelley
<div class="field field-name-field-embed-code field-type-text-long field-label-hidden view-mode-fulltext"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><iframe src="https://archive.org/embed/SteinmanWordsworth" width="400" height="30" frameborder="0" webkitallowfullscreen="true" mozallowfullscreen="true" allowfullscreen></iframe></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden view-mode-fulltext"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="content:encoded"><p>In this installment Lisa Steinman reads "To Wordsworth" by Percy Bysshe Shelley. Steinman teaches at Reed College in Portland. Her sixth book is <em>Masters of Repetition</em> (St. Martin's). Her most recent books of poetry include the chapbook <em>Ordinary Songs</em> (26 Books), which was an Oregon Book Award nominee, and <em>A Book of Other Days</em> (Arrowood), which won the Oregon Book Award in 1993. Her work has received recognition from the Rockefeller Foundation, the National Endowment for the Arts, and the National Endowment for the Humanities.</p>
<p>Percy Bysshe Shelley, "To Wordsworth"</p>
<p>Poet of Nature, thou hast wept to know<br />
That things depart which never may return:<br />
Childhood and youth, friendship, and love's first glow,<br />
Have fled like sweet dreams, leaving thee to mourn.<br />
These common woes I feel. One loss is mine<br />
Which thou too feel'st, yet I alone deplore.<br />
Thou wert as a lone star whose light did shine<br />
On some frail bark in winter's midnight roar:<br />
Thou hast like to a rock-built refuge stood<br />
Above the blind and battling multitude:<br />
In honoured poverty thy voice did weave<br />
Songs consecrate to truth and liberty.<br />
Deserting these, thou leavest me to grieve,<br />
Thus having been, that thou shouldst cease to be.</p>
</div></div></div><section class="field field-name-field-authored-by-primary- field-type-entityreference field-label-above view-mode-fulltext"><h2 class="field-label">Authored by (Primary):&nbsp;</h2><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><a href="/person/shelley-percy-bysshe">Shelley, Percy Bysshe</a></div></div></section><section class="field field-name-field-audio-author field-type-entityreference field-label-above view-mode-fulltext"><h2 class="field-label">Audio Author:&nbsp;</h2><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><a href="/person/steinman-lisa">Steinman, Lisa</a></div></div></section><section class="field field-name-field-audio-categories field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-above view-mode-fulltext"><h2 class="field-label">Audio Categories:&nbsp;</h2><ul class="field-items"><li class="field-item even"><a href="/category/audio-categories/poets-on-poets-reading" typeof="skos:Concept" property="rdfs:label skos:prefLabel" datatype="">Poets on Poets Reading</a></li></ul></section><section class="field field-name-field-resource-index field-type-entityreference field-label-above view-mode-fulltext"><h2 class="field-label">Parent Resource:&nbsp;</h2><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even">Poets on Poets</div></div></section>Fri, 15 Oct 2010 12:14:12 +0000DougGuerra23960 at http://www.rc.umd.eduJericho Brown reads “Love's Philosophy” by Percy Bysshe Shelleyhttp://www.rc.umd.edu/pop-blog/jericho-brown-reads-%E2%80%9Cloves-philosophy%E2%80%9D-percy-bysshe-shelley
<div class="field field-name-field-embed-code field-type-text-long field-label-hidden view-mode-fulltext"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><iframe src="https://archive.org/embed/BrownLove&playlist=1" width="400" height="70" frameborder="0" webkitallowfullscreen="true" mozallowfullscreen="true" allowfullscreen></iframe></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden view-mode-fulltext"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="content:encoded"><p>In this installment, Jericho Brown reads “Love's Philosophy” by Percy Bysshe Shelley. Brown worked as the speechwriter for the Mayor of New Orleans before receiving his Ph.D. in creative writing and literature from the University of Houston. He also holds an MFA from the University of New Orleans and a BA from Dillard University. The recipient of the Whiting Writers Award, the Bunting Fellowship from the Radcliffe Institute at Harvard University, and two travel fellowships to the Krakow Poetry Seminar in Poland, Brown teaches creative writing as an Assistant Professor of English at the University of San Diego. His poems have appeared in <em>The Iowa Review</em>, <em>jubilat</em>, <em>New England Review</em>, <em>Oxford American</em>, and several other journals and anthologies. Brown teaches creative writing as an Assistant Professor of English at the University of San Diego. His first book, <em>Please </em>(New Issues, 2008), won the 2009 American Book Award.</p>
<p>Percy Bysshe Shelley, "Love's Philosophy"</p>
<p>The fountains mingle with the river<br />
And the rivers with the ocean,<br />
The winds of heaven mix for ever<br />
With a sweet emotion;<br />
Nothing in the world is single;<br />
All things by a law divine<br />
In one another’s being and mingle.<br />
Why not I with thine?—</p>
<p>See the mountains kiss high heaven<br />
And the waves clasp one another;<br />
No sister-flower would be forgiven<br />
If it disdained its brother;<br />
And the sunlight clasps the earth<br />
And the moonbeams kiss the sea:<br />
What is all this sweet work worth<br />
If thou kiss not me?</p>
</div></div></div><section class="field field-name-field-authored-by-primary- field-type-entityreference field-label-above view-mode-fulltext"><h2 class="field-label">Authored by (Primary):&nbsp;</h2><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><a href="/person/brown-jericho">Brown, Jericho</a></div><div class="field-item odd"><a href="/person/shelley-percy-bysshe">Shelley, Percy Bysshe</a></div></div></section><section class="field field-name-field-audio-categories field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-above view-mode-fulltext"><h2 class="field-label">Audio Categories:&nbsp;</h2><ul class="field-items"><li class="field-item even"><a href="/category/audio-categories/poets-on-poets-reading" typeof="skos:Concept" property="rdfs:label skos:prefLabel" datatype="">Poets on Poets Reading</a></li></ul></section><section class="field field-name-field-resource-index field-type-entityreference field-label-above view-mode-fulltext"><h2 class="field-label">Parent Resource:&nbsp;</h2><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even">Poets on Poets</div></div></section>Fri, 15 Jan 2010 18:26:51 +0000DougGuerra23959 at http://www.rc.umd.eduNickole Brown reads “Imitation of Spenser” by John Keatshttp://www.rc.umd.edu/pop-blog/nickole-brown-reads-%E2%80%9Cimitation-spenser%E2%80%9D-john-keats
<div class="field field-name-field-embed-code field-type-text-long field-label-hidden view-mode-fulltext"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><iframe src="https://archive.org/embed/BrownImitation&playlist=1" width="400" height="70" frameborder="0" webkitallowfullscreen="true" mozallowfullscreen="true" allowfullscreen></iframe></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden view-mode-fulltext"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="content:encoded"><p>In this installment, Nickole Brown reads “Imitation of Spenser” by John Keats. Brown is the author of <em>Sister</em>, a novel-in-poems published by Red Hen Press (2007). She graduated from the M.F.A. Program at the Vermont College of Fine Arts and has received grants from the National Endowment for the Arts, the Kentucky Foundation for Women, and the Kentucky Arts Council. She has served as the National Publicity Consultant for the Palm Beach Poetry Festival, as well as the Program Coordinator for the VCFA writing residency in Slovenia. She currently lives in Louisville, Kentucky, where she is a Lecturer at Bellarmine University and the University of Louisville. She is also on the faculty at the low-residency MFA program at Murray State, is the co-editor for the Marie Alexander Poetry Series at White Pine Press, and works as the National Publicity Consultant for Arktoi Books</p>
<p>John Keats, "Imitation of Spenser"</p>
<p>Now Morning from her orient chamber came,<br />
And her first footsteps touch’d a verdant hill;<br />
Crowning its lawny chest with amber flame,<br />
Silv’ring the untainted gushes of its rill;<br />
Which, pure from mossy beds, did down distill,<br />
And after parting beds of simple flowers,<br />
By many streams a little lake did fill,<br />
Which round its marge reflected woven bowers,<br />
And, in its middle space, a sky that never lowers.</p>
<p>There the king-fisher saw his plumage bright<br />
Vieing with fish of brilliant dye below;<br />
Whose silken fins, and golden scales’ light<br />
Cast upward, through the waves, a ruby glow:<br />
There saw the swan his neck of arched snow,<br />
And oar’d himself along with majesty;<br />
Sparkled his jetty eyes; his feet did show<br />
Beneath the waves like Afric’s ebony,<br />
And on his back a fay reclined volumptuously.</p>
<p>Ah! could I tell the wonders of an isle<br />
That in that fairest lake had placed been,<br />
I could e’en Dido of her grief beguile;<br />
Or rob from aged Lear his bitter teen:<br />
For sure so fair a place was never seen,<br />
Of all that ever charm’d romantic eye:<br />
It seem’d an emerald in the silver sheen<br />
Of the bright waters; or as when on high,<br />
Through clouds of fleecy white, laughs the coerulean sky.</p>
<p>And all around it dipp’d luxuriously<br />
Slopings of verdure through the glossy tide,<br />
Which, as it were in gentle amnity,<br />
Rippled delighted up the flowery side;<br />
As if to glean the ruddy tears, it tried,<br />
Which fell profusely from the rose-tree stem!<br />
Happily it was the workings of its pride,<br />
In strife to throw upon the shore a gem<br />
Outvieing all the buds in Flora’s diadem.</p>
</div></div></div><section class="field field-name-field-authored-by-primary- field-type-entityreference field-label-above view-mode-fulltext"><h2 class="field-label">Authored by (Primary):&nbsp;</h2><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><a href="/person/keats-john">Keats, John</a></div></div></section><section class="field field-name-field-audio-author field-type-entityreference field-label-above view-mode-fulltext"><h2 class="field-label">Audio Author:&nbsp;</h2><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><a href="/person/brown-nickole">Brown, Nickole</a></div></div></section><section class="field field-name-field-audio-categories field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-above view-mode-fulltext"><h2 class="field-label">Audio Categories:&nbsp;</h2><ul class="field-items"><li class="field-item even"><a href="/category/audio-categories/poets-on-poets-reading" typeof="skos:Concept" property="rdfs:label skos:prefLabel" datatype="">Poets on Poets Reading</a></li></ul></section><section class="field field-name-field-resource-index field-type-entityreference field-label-above view-mode-fulltext"><h2 class="field-label">Parent Resource:&nbsp;</h2><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even">Poets on Poets</div></div></section>Fri, 15 Jan 2010 18:26:09 +0000DougGuerra23958 at http://www.rc.umd.eduSteve McCaffrey reads “Signs of Winter” by John Clarehttp://www.rc.umd.edu/pop-blog/steve-mccaffrey-reads-%E2%80%9Csigns-winter%E2%80%9D-john-clare
<div class="field field-name-field-embed-code field-type-text-long field-label-hidden view-mode-fulltext"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><iframe src="https://archive.org/embed/MccaffreySigns" width="400" height="30" frameborder="0" webkitallowfullscreen="true" mozallowfullscreen="true" allowfullscreen></iframe></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden view-mode-fulltext"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="content:encoded"><p>In this installment, Steve McCaffrey reads “Signs of Winter” by John Clare. Experimental Canadian poet Steve McCaffrey is the author of over a dozen volumes of poetry and has twice received the Gertrude Stein Award for Innovative American Poetry. He was one of the co-founders of the Toronto Research Group and is also the author or editor of several important books of criticism, including <em>Rational Geomancy: The Kids of the Book Machine</em>, <em>North of Intention</em>, and <em>Prior to Meaning</em>.</p>
<p>John Clare, "Signs of Winter"</p>
<p>Tis winter plain the images around<br />
Protentious tell us of the closing year<br />
Short grows the stupid day the moping fowl<br />
Go roost at noon—upon the mossy barn<br />
The thatcher hangs and lays the frequent yaum<br />
Nudged close to stop the rain that drizzling falls<br />
With scarce one interval of sunny sky<br />
For weeks still leeking on that sulky gloom<br />
Muggy and close a doubt twixt night and day<br />
The sparrow rarely chirps the thresher pale<br />
Twanks with sharp measured raps the weary frail<br />
Thump after thump right tiresome to the ear<br />
The hedger lonesome brustles at his toil<br />
And shepherds trudge the fields without a song<br />
The cat runs races with her tail—the dog<br />
Leaps oer the orchard hedge and knarls the grass<br />
The swine run round and grunt and play with straw<br />
Snatching out hasty mouthfuls from the snack<br />
Sudden upon the elm tree tops the crows<br />
Uncerimonious visit pays and croaks<br />
Then swops away—from mossy barn the owl<br />
Bobs hasty out—wheels round and scared as soon<br />
As hastily retires—the ducks grow wild<br />
And from the muddy pond fly up and wheel<br />
A circle round the village and soon tired<br />
Plunge in the pond again—the maids in haste<br />
Snatch from the orchard hedge the mizled cloaths<br />
And laughing hurry in to keep them dry</p>
</div></div></div><section class="field field-name-field-authored-by-primary- field-type-entityreference field-label-above view-mode-fulltext"><h2 class="field-label">Authored by (Primary):&nbsp;</h2><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><a href="/person/clare-john">Clare, John</a></div></div></section><section class="field field-name-field-audio-author field-type-entityreference field-label-above view-mode-fulltext"><h2 class="field-label">Audio Author:&nbsp;</h2><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><a href="/person/mccaffrey-steve">McCaffrey, Steve</a></div></div></section><section class="field field-name-field-audio-categories field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-above view-mode-fulltext"><h2 class="field-label">Audio Categories:&nbsp;</h2><ul class="field-items"><li class="field-item even"><a href="/category/audio-categories/poets-on-poets-reading" typeof="skos:Concept" property="rdfs:label skos:prefLabel" datatype="">Poets on Poets Reading</a></li></ul></section><section class="field field-name-field-resource-index field-type-entityreference field-label-above view-mode-fulltext"><h2 class="field-label">Parent Resource:&nbsp;</h2><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even">Poets on Poets</div></div></section>Fri, 15 Jan 2010 18:25:27 +0000DougGuerra23957 at http://www.rc.umd.eduAlexander Long reads “To John Clare” by John Clarehttp://www.rc.umd.edu/pop-blog/alexander-long-reads-%E2%80%9C-john-clare%E2%80%9D-john-clare
<div class="field field-name-field-embed-code field-type-text-long field-label-hidden view-mode-fulltext"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><iframe src="https://archive.org/embed/LongClare" width="400" height="30" frameborder="0" webkitallowfullscreen="true" mozallowfullscreen="true" allowfullscreen></iframe></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden view-mode-fulltext"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="content:encoded"><p>In this installment, Alexander Long reads “To John Clare” by John Clare. Long's first two books are <em>Vigil </em>(New Issues Poetry &amp; Prose, 2006) and <em>Light Here, Light There</em> (C &amp; R Press, 2009). With Christopher Buckley, he is co-editor of <em>A Condition of the Spirit: The Life &amp; Work of Larry Levis</em> (Eastern Washington University Press, 2004). His work has appeared or is forthcoming in <em>AGNI</em>, <em>The American Poetry Review</em>, <em>American Writers</em>, <em>Blackbird</em>, <em>Callaloo</em>, and <em>The Southern Review</em>, among others. An assistant professor of English at John Jay College, Long also plays bass and writes songs with the band Redhead Betty Takeout.</p>
<p>John Clare, "To John Clare"</p>
<p>Well, honest John, how fare you now at home?<br />
The spring is come, and birds are building nests;<br />
The old cock-robin to the sty is come,<br />
With olive feathers and its ruddy breast;<br />
And the old cock, with wattles and red comb,<br />
Struts with the hens, and seems to like some best,<br />
Then crows, and looks about for little crumbs,<br />
Swept out by little folks an hour ago;<br />
The pigs sleep in the sty; the bookman comes-<br />
The little boys lets home-closing nesting go,<br />
And pockets tops and taws, where daisies bloom,<br />
To look at the new number just laid down,<br />
With lots of pictures, and good stories too,<br />
And Jack the Giant-killer's high renown.</p>
<div id="_mcePaste" style="overflow: hidden; position: absolute; left: -10000px; top: 0px; width: 1px; height: 1px;">Long's first two books are <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1930974647?ie=UTF8&amp;tag=fromthefish-20&amp;linkCode=xm2&amp;creativeASIN=1930974647"><em>Vigil</em></a> (<a href="http://www.wmich.edu/%7Enewissue/New_Issues_Titles/Long/Long_Book_Page.html">New Issues Poetry &amp; Prose</a>, 2006) and <em><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0981501060?ie=UTF8&amp;tag=fromthefish-20&amp;creativeASIN=0981501060">Light Here, Light There</a></em> (<a href="http://crpress.notilt.com/Light-Here-Light-There.aspx">C &amp; R Press</a>, 2009). With Christopher Buckley, he is co-editor of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0910055920?ie=UTF8&amp;tag=fromthefish-20&amp;creativeASIN=0910055920"><em>A Condition of the Spirit: the Life &amp; Work of Larry Levis</em></a> (<a href="http://www.ewu.edu/ewupress/nonfiction/levis.htm">Eastern Washington University Press</a>, 2004). His work has appeared or is forthcoming in <em>AGNI</em>, <em>The American Poetry Review</em>, <em>American Writers</em> (Charles Scriber's Sons), <em>Blackbird</em>, <em>Callaloo</em>, and <em>The Southern Review</em>, among others. An assistant professor of English at John Jay College, Long also plays bass and writes songs with the band <a href="http://www.redheadbettytakeout.com/">Redhead Betty Takeout</a>.</div>
</div></div></div><section class="field field-name-field-authored-by-primary- field-type-entityreference field-label-above view-mode-fulltext"><h2 class="field-label">Authored by (Primary):&nbsp;</h2><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><a href="/person/clare-john">Clare, John</a></div></div></section><section class="field field-name-field-audio-author field-type-entityreference field-label-above view-mode-fulltext"><h2 class="field-label">Audio Author:&nbsp;</h2><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><a href="/person/long-alexander">Long, Alexander</a></div></div></section><section class="field field-name-field-audio-categories field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-above view-mode-fulltext"><h2 class="field-label">Audio Categories:&nbsp;</h2><ul class="field-items"><li class="field-item even"><a href="/category/audio-categories/poets-on-poets-reading" typeof="skos:Concept" property="rdfs:label skos:prefLabel" datatype="">Poets on Poets Reading</a></li></ul></section><section class="field field-name-field-resource-index field-type-entityreference field-label-above view-mode-fulltext"><h2 class="field-label">Parent Resource:&nbsp;</h2><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even">Poets on Poets</div></div></section>Fri, 15 Jan 2010 18:03:38 +0000DougGuerra23956 at http://www.rc.umd.eduAracelis Girmay reads "Dream-Pedlary" by Thomas Lovell Beddoeshttp://www.rc.umd.edu/pop-blog/aracelis-girmay-reads-dream-pedlary-thomas-lovell-beddoes
<div class="field field-name-field-embed-code field-type-text-long field-label-hidden view-mode-fulltext"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><iframe src="https://archive.org/embed/GirmayDream" width="400" height="30" frameborder="0" webkitallowfullscreen="true" mozallowfullscreen="true" allowfullscreen></iframe></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden view-mode-fulltext"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="content:encoded"><p>In this installment, Aracelis Girmay reads “Dream-Pedlary” by Thomas Lovell Beddoes. Girmay is the author of <a href="http://www.curbstone.org/bookdetail.cfm?BookID=197" target="blank"><em>Teeth</em></a>, a collection of poems published by Curbstone Press in 2007. Her poems have also been published in <em>Ploughshares</em>, <em>Bellevue Literary Review</em>, <em>Indiana Review</em>, <em>Callaloo</em>, and <em>MiPOesias</em>, among other journals. A Cave Canem fellow, Girmay teaches writing workshops in New York &amp; California.</p>
<p>Thomas Lovell Beddoes, "Dream-Pedlary"</p>
<p>If there were dreams to sell,<br />
What would you buy?<br />
Some cost a passing bell;<br />
Some a light sigh,<br />
That shakes from Life's fresh crown<br />
Only a rose-leaf down.<br />
If there were dreams to sell,<br />
Merry and sad to tell,<br />
And the crier rang the bell,<br />
What would you buy?</p>
<p>A cottage lone and still,<br />
With bowers nigh,<br />
Shadowy, my woes to still,<br />
Until I die.<br />
Such pearls from Life's fresh crown<br />
Fain would I shake me down.<br />
Were dreams to have at will,<br />
This would best heal my ill,<br />
This would I buy.</p>
<p>But there were dreams to sell<br />
Ill didst thou buy;<br />
Life is a dream, they tell,<br />
Waking, to die.<br />
Dreaming a dream to prize,<br />
Is wishing ghosts to rise;<br />
And, if I had the spell<br />
To call the buried well,<br />
Which one should I?</p>
<p>If there are ghosts to raise,<br />
What shall I call<br />
Out of hell’s murky haze,<br />
Heaven’s blue pall?<br />
Raise my lov’d long-lost boy<br />
To lead me to his joy.<br />
There are no ghosts to raise;<br />
Out of death lead no ways;<br />
Vain is the call.</p>
<p>Know’st thou not ghosts to sue?<br />
No love thou hast.<br />
Else lie, as I will do,<br />
And breathe thy last.<br />
So out of Life’s fresh crown<br />
Fall like a rose-leaf down.<br />
Thus are the ghosts to woo;<br />
Thus are all dreams made true,<br />
Ever to last!</p>
<div id="_mcePaste" style="overflow: hidden; position: absolute; left: -10000px; top: 0px; width: 1px; height: 1px;">Girmay is the author of &lt;a href="<a href="http://www.curbstone.org/bookdetail.cfm?BookID=197">http://www.curbstone.org/bookdetail.cfm?BookID=197</a>" target="blank"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Teeth&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/a&gt;, a collection of poems published by Curbstone Press in 2007. Her poems have also been published in &lt;em&gt;Ploughshares&lt;/em&gt;, &lt;em&gt;Bellevue Literary Review&lt;/em&gt;, &lt;em&gt;Indiana Review&lt;/em&gt;, &lt;em&gt;Callaloo&lt;/em&gt;, and &lt;em&gt;MiPOesias&lt;/em&gt;, among other journals. A Cave Canem fellow, Girmay teaches writing workshops in New York &amp; California.</div>
</div></div></div><section class="field field-name-field-authored-by-primary- field-type-entityreference field-label-above view-mode-fulltext"><h2 class="field-label">Authored by (Primary):&nbsp;</h2><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><a href="/person/beddoes-thomas-lovell">Beddoes, Thomas Lovell</a></div></div></section><section class="field field-name-field-audio-author field-type-entityreference field-label-above view-mode-fulltext"><h2 class="field-label">Audio Author:&nbsp;</h2><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><a href="/person/girmay-aracelis">Girmay, Aracelis</a></div></div></section><section class="field field-name-field-audio-categories field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-above view-mode-fulltext"><h2 class="field-label">Audio Categories:&nbsp;</h2><ul class="field-items"><li class="field-item even"><a href="/category/audio-categories/poets-on-poets-reading" typeof="skos:Concept" property="rdfs:label skos:prefLabel" datatype="">Poets on Poets Reading</a></li></ul></section><section class="field field-name-field-resource-index field-type-entityreference field-label-above view-mode-fulltext"><h2 class="field-label">Parent Resource:&nbsp;</h2><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even">Poets on Poets</div></div></section>Fri, 15 Jan 2010 17:57:32 +0000DougGuerra23955 at http://www.rc.umd.edu